The Big Appliance Store in the Sky

We laid a beloved family member to rest this week. I was very close with him and therefore the loss has devastated me. I'm speaking of course about Mr. Coffee, the best brew machine this side of the Hudson.

He had a long life, comparatively speaking. We've had a long line of Mr. Coffees over the years. I'm kind of the Godfather (well, Godmother) of coffee pots. I tend to cause accidents to happen to them. They aren't sleeping with the fishes, but they are suffering multiple injuries. I can't tell you how many have carafes have been dropped and smashed or how many hot pads have burned out. I'm pretty sure when I go to buy a new coffee maker they hide behind the fancy Keurig machines, hoping that I won't find them.

Ironically, I LOVE coffee. So it shouldn't be a monumental task to keep an appliance whose sole function is to produce that lovely, rich nectar continually functioning in my house. And yet it is. It's like my kryptonite. Because no one wants to see me without coffee, least of all my husband. If you think I'm being overly dramatic, let me explain that my husband's first action upon hearing that Mr. Coffee bit the big one, was to purchase another coffee pot. Before he even came home from work. Because he knows that if I don't have coffee, I'm gonna go all Mel Gibson up in this place. And he's going to get the brunt of it. See, it's purely self preservation.

Of course, I had the proper grieving period for the old chap (2 hours) before replacing him with the new, improved Mr. Coffee. (Hey, I'm sentimental, not stupid! Now give me my coffee!) I'd say that I took no joy in it, but let's be realistic, it's a coffee pot not my Grandmother! (Although coincidentally, she's being replaced too. Auditions are being held next week.)

I love to get a brand spanking new coffee maker. I feel like a kid at Christmas. It's all shiny and new and has endless pots of coffee still left in it. I think of all the lazy mornings we'll spend together and the good times we'll have. There'll be a montage of warm, fuzzy moments of holiday breakfasts and afternoon chats with friends or a good book with sappy music playing in the background. And at the end I'll be spinning in a circle with Mr. Coffee in my arms with the sunset at our backs. Sigh. I love you Mr. Coffee.

So, Mr. Java Beans Coffee the eighth (or maybe the ninth?), rest in peace little buddy. May your days be filled with heavenly frolicking toasters and all the cream and sugar your little carafe desires.